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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084242">Thieves in the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfTheLake666/pseuds/LadyOfTheLake666'>LadyOfTheLake666</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Earth Kingdom (Avatar), Episode: s02e02 The Cave of Two Lovers, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Missing Scene, Refugees, Zuko (Avatar)-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:27:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084242</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfTheLake666/pseuds/LadyOfTheLake666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Song didn’t know that the stranger who stole her war ostrich would one day become the new Fire Lord.</p><p>The world has a funny way of showing her kindness.</p><p>A canon-compliant one-shot based on Zuko and Song’s interactions in the “Cave of Two Lovers” episode</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Song/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thieves in the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Song has always believed in kindness.</p><p>Perhaps it is because the world has never shown her any.</p><p>After all, she’d been just a child when she lost her father to the Fire Nation raiders who burned down their little village at the edge of the woods. She still remembers that night, her mother shaking her awake, drowsy eyes slowly adjusting to the smoke and flames, the desperate cries for help just outside their hut. Her mother had thrown a shawl over her and pressed a finger to her lips, as they remained hidden, hardly daring to breathe.</p><p>They didn’t have any weapons, save a woodcutter’s axe that her father had grabbed to defend their home from the enemy soldiers, her father who’d take her to the forest each week and teach her to identify the various kinds of mushrooms and herbs that grew in the undergrowth or tell apart the bacui berries (cures poisons) from the mahaconi ones (causes blindness), her father who brushed her hair and lulled her to sleep each night, with a story about the Avatar and how he’d one day unite all the Four Nations, her father who promised to build a bigger hut for them one day, with a room of her own that would have a small window, looking into the misty woods.</p><p>She never saw her father again.</p><p>But when she saw the dead and dying bodies of her neighbors, their fields and homes burnt to ash, their livestock slaughtered, all her father’s lessons came back and she knew what she had to do.</p><p>With her knowledge of medicinal and poisonous plants, she became a healer of sorts, helping her mother prepare brews and antidotes and later helped the village women set up a ramshackle hospital, tending to the sick and wounded, her father’s steady voice in her ears, guiding her, whispering words of advice and comfort.</p><p>In a world of bloodshed and betrayal, Song woke up each morning and chose to be kind.</p><p>*</p><p>She knew they were strangers from the moment they walked in- the old man with a wispy grey beard, his arms covered in rashes (white jade bush, probably) and the young boy (perhaps his grandson?) with a straw hat that covered his face. Their clothes were dirty and ragged, and they looked thin and weak, yet the boy had a noble air about him. They were probably refugees, she reasoned, fleeing from Fire Nation patrols, wandering for days in the woods, without food or shelter.</p><p>Her heart ached for them.</p><p>The old man was kindly, and as she applied the clay-like paste on his body to ease the bright-red flushes, she found herself talking lightly with him, asking about their travels, their names, their lives.</p><p>Song had never crossed the woods. She’d heard tales about Omashu and the great walled city of Ba-Sing-Se of course, and she’d hoped that one day she’d visit them. Yet her place was at this musty grey-walled infirmary for if she didn’t stay back to help those who needed it, who else would? So when travelers passed by, she’d get childishly excited, eager to hear stories and adventures about the wide world that lay beyond the forest.</p><p>But while the old man seemed friendly, the boy was just the opposite, sulking in a corner, his hat obscuring his face. When the boy replied to her questions, his voice had a curt, clipped tone to it.</p><p>She thought that he was shy or wary, that days of traveling through the wilderness had made him awkward around social situations and she decided to remedy that.</p><p>“Mushi and Junior, huh?”, she asked gaily, hoping to put him at ease. “My name is Song. You two look like you could use a good meal. Why don't you stay for dinner?”</p><p>But that discomfited the boy more, for he replied, a little too hesitant, “Sorry, but we need to be moving on.”</p><p>Yet Song knew he hadn’t a decent meal in ages. Was he embarrassed or too proud to accept a formal invitation, or being unused to the kindness of strangers, simply suspicious at her forwardness?</p><p>Either way, she wanted to find out.</p><p>“That's too bad”, she said, off-handedly. “My mom always makes too much roast duck.”</p><p>The effect on the old man, at least, was immediate. He perked up, eyes brightening, and inquired, “Where do you live, exactly?”<br/><br/>*</p><p>Song only wanted to make them comfortable.</p><p>Their village had never really recovered from that one raid and she knew first-hand just how harsh life could get- cultivating fallow fields, living on nuts and berries, rebuilding huts from the smoldering ruins. She knew what it felt to go hungry for days, to sleep in the open, through rain and sleet, to watch people die from gangrenous wounds or the lack of medicine, and she knew what all that suffering and bitterness did to people, turning their hearts into stone.</p><p>But not on her watch.</p><p>She enthusiastically helped her mother to cook a grand meal, flavoring the roast duck with spices and herbs, along with mashed potatoes and noodles and some greens. A delicious aroma filled the kitchen and she made sure there was enough for extra helpings and for the strangers to take with them on their travels. She even took a quick detour to the forest and came back laden with mushrooms and prepared a thick, creamy soup, her brown hair still dusted with leaves and twigs.</p><p>“A feast for a king!”, her mother remarked, brushing the sweat from her forehead, when they were finally done.</p><p>*</p><p>The old man Mushi obviously relished the food, savoring the meat and the vegetables, full of praise at their hospitality. But the young boy still seemed ill at ease, picking at his portions, taking slow and uncertain mouthfuls, as though he did not want to be there.</p><p>He’d taken off his hat at least, and Song saw a nasty burn on his left eye, like a scorch mark. Perhaps he too was the victim of a cruel fire-bending warrior.</p><p>Perhaps they had more in common than he realized.</p><p>“When I was a little girl, the Fire Nation raided our farming village”, she said quietly. “All the men were taken away. That was the last time I saw my father.”</p><p>Something dark flashed across his eyes.</p><p>“I haven't seen my father in many years”, he replied.</p><p>He too must’ve lost his father in a raid, she thought. Had he been in a fight and was that how he got the scar? Or did his father leave the village to join the war against the Fire Nation? Yet the arrogant way he carried himself, suggested nobility. Was he the son of a disgraced politician or ambassador? A fugitive, a runaway? That would explain why he had been unwilling to share their names. And the way the old man and the boy exchanged glances hinted at a complicated relationship, both companionship, and hostility.</p><p>They were by far, the most interesting strangers she’d ever met and she was torn between wanting to know more and respecting their privacy.</p><p>“Oh,” she said, testing the waters, “Is he fighting in the war?”</p><p>He remained silent and she wondered if she’d gone too far or asked the wrong question. She wanted them to be comfortable and didn’t want to appear too intrusive. Yet, there was a darkness to him that she couldn’t exactly pinpoint.</p><p>Then the boy put down his soup bowl and replied darkly, “Yeah”.</p><p><em>Not much of a talker are you</em>, she thought, turning to the old man who began a thrilling tale of a dragon hunt and a mysterious Sun temple.</p><p>*</p><p>As she cleared and washed the plates afterwards, she could hear her mother and Mushi in the other room, engaged in deep conversation about different herbal teas and brews. But the boy did not join them and instead waited on the front porch.</p><p>The old man seemed a veritable trove of stories and knowledge, and she wanted to talk to him more, perhaps even learn from him. But then she thought of the forlorn boy and the darkness that followed him like a shadow.</p><p>He didn’t know it, but he desperately needed kindness.</p><p>She lit a lantern and walked over to him.</p><p>He was sitting cross-legged, staring into the dark starlit woods. The air faintly shimmered with fireflies.</p><p>“Can I join you?”, she asked, sitting next to him. “I know what you've been through. We've all been through it.”</p><p>She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t the only one carrying scars and painful reminders of a blood-splattered past, that his hurt and hate would not last forever, but she wasn’t sure how to say it.   </p><p>“The Fire Nation has hurt you”, she said softly.</p><p> He turned to look at her, a broken expression upon his face.</p><p>Faintly, her heart beating, she reached out to touch his scar.</p><p>His reflex was immediate, like a prey caught in a hunter’s snare. He flinched and grabbed her hand, a little too tightly.</p><p>“It's okay”, she whispered, saddened and scared at his reaction. “They've hurt me, too.”</p><p>
  <em>You don’t have to be so afraid.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’d never hurt you.</em>
</p><p>He let go of her hand, but he seemed on edge, glaring at her warily. She could sense his darkness, his distrust, his anger and it broke her heart.</p><p>
  <em>I only wanted to help you.</em>
</p><p>Slowly with trembling fingers, she raised her dress to her knees, revealing a ghastly fire-bending scar on her right leg.</p><p><em>You’re not alone</em>, she wanted to say. <em>You don’t have to carry the scars alone.</em></p><p>And then that expression of sullenness and hostility broke and she saw him for what he was, a lonely boy, confused and wracked with pain and guilt and fear, and a look of shock and horror crept onto his pale face.</p><p>“I-I-”, he stuttered, not knowing what to say next.</p><p>She pulled her dress down and smiled sadly.</p><p>“You’re not alone in your pain”, she said.</p><p>“I’m…I’m sorry”, he said, as though the words pained him.</p><p>“It was years ago”, she mused, looking up at the stars, “I was just a kid, a week before my seventh birthday. My father was supposed to take me to the forest, to help pick some herbs but he refused, saying it would be too dangerous. That there were spies about.”</p><p>She’d caught his attention, finally. He was listening intently.</p><p>“I was surprised”, she continued. “We went to the woods each week and he’d never said no before. And I’d been looking forward to it. But he refused and I got angry and I said that I did not want to speak to him ever again and stormed off to bed.”</p><p>“That night, the Fire Nation soldiers raided our village. We lost all our men. My mother and I hid in the storeroom, but eventually, they broke in and set fire to the hut. And as we struggled to escape the flames, one of them shot a flaming rope at me, binding my leg. We thought we’d die in the flames, but our men fought them bravely, giving enough time for the women and children to escape.”</p><p>He looked horrified.</p><p>“My father never came back. I never got the chance to say goodbye.”</p><p>Tears filled her eyes.</p><p>Every night, she had the same dream. The village burning, the people helpless, a world of fire and ash.</p><p>She hadn’t meant to tell him all this. She hadn’t talked about that night for a long time, not even with her mother. Yet she found herself opening up to this strange and sullen boy from a faraway land.</p><p>He was looking at her with a shocked expression, his lips half-parted.</p><p>“That’s horrible”, he said at last.</p><p>She sighed, wiping her tears. “He taught me everything I know about healing. Sometimes when I’m helping people, I can hear his voice, I can feel him near me. I think he would’ve been proud.”</p><p>At least, she could have some comfort in that.</p><p>“At least he loved you”, he said, a grating edge to his voice.</p><p>She broke from her reverie, filled with consternation. “Didn’t yours?”</p><p>He scoffed, turning away. “He gave me the scar.”</p><p>Instinctively her fingers reached to cover her mouth, horrified.</p><p>“How…why…”</p><p>“It’s in the past. No matter what I did, I could never please him. All I wanted was for him to be proud of me.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment and gritted his teeth. “Just...for once”</p><p>It explained so much, his cold attitude, his distrust, his darkness. She wanted to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder, but then she remembered how he’d flinched at the slightest physical contact.</p><p>“And instead he hurt you!”</p><p>His fingers balled into fists and as he spoke, she noticed a dark-red glint in his eyes. “That’s the way of the world. You hurt or you get hurt.”</p><p><em>No</em>, she wanted to scream.</p><p>He’d got it all wrong.</p><p>“That’s not true!”, she exclaimed. “People aren’t all evil.”</p><p>He stared at her, incredulous. “You said it yourself. The Fire Nation killed your father and destroyed your home and you-you still think there’s any good left in this world?”</p><p><em>What a cruel thing to say</em>, she thought. But she needed to be strong, steadfast.</p><p>“Yes, I do. And I’m trying in my own way to do some good.” Her voice broke. “I know it might not count for much, but I’m trying. That’s the best we can do.”</p><p><em>Even though it’s so difficult</em>.</p><p>She needed to get through to him, to make him understand. She didn’t know why, but it suddenly felt so important.</p><p>He shook his head, clearly agitated. “You’re a little foo-”.</p><p>He stopped himself from saying the word and then turned away from her, as if ashamed.</p><p>It hurt. It stung like a needle, even though it wasn’t the first time someone had said something like that. The young village boys would constantly make fun of her for wanting to be a healer, but when there was a dearth of doctors in the community, they’d come to her hut, desperately hoping for a cure. And in time, they learned to respect her and what she believed in.</p><p>But there wasn’t enough time to make <em>this</em> boy realize the error in his thinking, that he didn’t have to repeat his father’s cruelties. But try as she might, she’d learned the hard way that most people preferred to come to their own conclusions.</p><p>She forced herself to laugh. “You think I’m a foo-fool for what I do? Go on, say it. I’ve seen your type before. You think—”</p><p>“I…I didn’t mean that. It’s just that—"</p><p>“You don’t have to. It’s okay”, she said quietly, getting up. Even if he didn’t intend to say it, he’d still meant it and it made her feel sorry for him and very sad. “I pray that someday you’ll see the world as I do.”</p><p>She offered him a faint smile and then went inside, leaving him looking stricken.</p><p>*</p><p>Song’s mother had packed a two-day meal for them, which the old man accepted with profuse thanks and compliments. It surprised her how the young boy could be around someone so kind and gentle and humble and yet still be so sullen and bitter. He was very silent throughout the exchange as if lost in deep thought and Mushi had to prod him to say thank you.</p><p>He stood aloof, a few paces ahead of them, and didn’t even look back. Very curtly, he added, “Thank you.”</p><p>Song couldn’t stop herself. She called after him, “I know you don't think there's any hope left in the world, but there is hope. The Avatar has returned!”</p><p>The boy went very still. “I know”, he said and walked away. The old man offered them a friendly wave, before joining him.</p><p>She stood at the doorway, watching them, long after her mother went inside to retire for the night. The door was closed, but she peeped through a small crack, watching Mushi and the boy bickering, next to the stable where their lone surviving war ostrich was tethered.</p><p>Suddenly the boy stopped to look at the animal and then back at the dark courtyard as if to make sure they weren’t being watched. Her mother had already put out the lanterns.</p><p>The old man seemed reluctant but the boy released the ostrich and began to lead it away with them.</p><p>They had no idea that she was a witness to their theft and yet she felt powerless to stop them. She could still shout, alert her mother and the old man had seemed honorable, after all, yet she did not raise her voice. It was the only war ostrich that had survived the fire and here they were, stealing it. They didn’t even have the decency to offer to buy or loan the animal first.</p><p>She felt crushed. Her kindness had been for naught. She looked down in sadness and closed the door, remembering every time she’d been called a weakling or a fool, every instance when someone took advantage of her kindness or betrayed her trust. It didn’t surprise her anymore, but it stung her still, like invisible pinpricks.</p><p><em>That’s the way of the world, </em>he had said<em>.  You hurt or you get hurt.</em></p><p>
  <em>Oh, what a fool I’ve been. </em>
</p><p>But better to be a fool than to be cruel. And she needed to be strong, strong enough to not succumb. The world was a cruel and unkind place and choosing kindness was always such a difficult choice, each time. With their ostrich gone, forays into the forest would be difficult but she consoled herself thinking that perhaps the two refugees needed the animal more than her, to traverse the vast stretches of wilderness that separated one village from another.</p><p>She chose to be kind, but if there was no more kindness left in the world, what then?</p><p>*</p><p>A whole year had passed since she’d last thought of the boy and the old man. The hospital with its patients, collecting herbs, and preparing ointments, along with her new duties as a midwife, all kept her busy. Besides, the loss of the war-ostrich had ended all her plans of one day traveling around the world. But every now and then, returning from work at dusk or taking a stroll in the courtyard, she’d glance at the empty stable and feel a pang.</p><p>So she was very surprised when one evening she reached home and saw two war ostriches tethered to the stable. There was a bundle attached to one of their saddles.</p><p>Excitedly, she opened it. It was filled with gold coins, enough to repair the walls of the hospital or to build a new house or even to travel to a different place and set up a new life there.</p><p>It was more money than she’d ever dreamed, enough to feed a whole village.</p><p>There was a small note attached to the bundle. It read: <em>Thank you for giving me hope when I had none left.</em></p><p>There was no name, but it was signed with the insignia of the new Fire Nation king, who as per the rumors, supposedly had a scar in his left eye.</p><p>The world had a funny way of showing her kindness.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first time writing for the ATLA fandom and boy, am I excited. Please let me know what you think and if you’d like to read more of my work. </p><p>I’m also on tumblr as ladyofthelake666, so feel free to say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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